It's A Warm Wind, The West Wind,

Life Is A Long Headache In A Noisy Street.

My Road Leads Me Seawards To The White Dipping Sails.

I Have Seen Dawn And Sunset On Moors And Windy Hills Coming In Solemn Beauty Like Slow Old Tunes Of Spain.

Oh Some Are Fond Of Spanish Wine, And Some Are Fond Of French.

Man With His Burning Soul Has But An Hour Of Breath To Build A Ship Of Truth In Which His Soul May Sail- Sail On The Sea Of Death. For Death Takes Toll Of Beauty, Courage, Youth, Of All But Truth.